(Human emotions are so weird – and uncontrollable, at least when they come up unexpectedly. Like an ambush.)
This is about snowstorms, funks, and a thought from our Sunday Sermon.
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First your scent. Then stalking. Then the sudden ambush.
(Things in life do that to you.)
A restaurant in Austria last week (“Snow for Dinner”):
In case you haven’t been following European news in the past couple months, they’re having a terrible winter over there; extreme weather, especially lots of snowfall! There have been frequent avalanches there, some deadly, as well as here in the US; a bad one in New Mexico and another in Utah, in the same suburb of Salt Lake city where I stayed one winter. Our hosts took us up a harrowing snow-covered winding road to one of the ski mountains — something about a “bird, forgot which one — and that’s where they had an avalanche this year.
Well, we’re going to get a big snowstorm tonight and all day tomorrow. “Hurray!” I say. And just in time to raise my spirits.
It started with a visit from Son a few days ago, enjoying his conversation; he has interesting things to say –enjoy feeding him; and he’s really good at lighting up the fireplace. And then we watched a movie together.
About a bear. A bear attack.
That’s not from the movie, but it’s a very scary picture to me. The movie was about two people hiking in the woods (why do people DO that?) up in Canada, and they were stalked (successfully) by a big bear.
The movie was well done, based on a true story and, as Son remarked, “intense.” I enjoyed it, but of course it brought me back to the moments when a bear started to stalk my Mom, Dad, and me deep in the forest in the Far Far North.
Stalking, then chasing, making lunges through the bushes.
Not a time that you’d forget.
Unfortunately, for some reason that also brought back lots of “feelings” from that period in my life. It was a long period of time, very, very long, and all the sadness and bleakness of those years came out and “attacked” — unexpectedly.
And that started one of those Deep Blue Funks that I get from time to time.
I don’t know what Garfield should have been doing, but I couldn’t post for a few days. . .
No big deal. We all have old emotions hanging over our heads, stalking us.
You wouldn’t believe how much sadness a person can contain – usually hidden from the rest of us. I know this. And I can easily imagine the sadness and “aloneness” that overshadows other people.
I wrote. I wrote and wrote and wrote; and that helped, to get feelings out of me and down on paper. But what ended this Funk altogether were some good words in our Sunday sermon based upon readings from Romans 7. Be present for the other person. Be “instant in prayer” — always ready for a reason to pray and then personally “present” to God when you do pray. Being fully present for the person you’re talking to.
Good advice for all of us, of course; good thoughts to meditate on . . . but what if someone actually practiced that on you! Someone did! Friendly chitchat after Mass, and then a friend made a personal comment on my boots (of all things!) and that she liked the color and how they matched my clothes! Since I’m usually unaware of how I dress, I took notice that this was a genuine compliment. Well, I took notice. Of everything around me, then.
And I remembered the sermon, in which we were admonished to be fully present and attentive to the people around us. And — then . . . I remember my Mom during some of our blizzards when I was a child around the age of that bear chase we had. My Mom made our days of being snowed in a happy time of togetherness and mutually enjoyable activities – reading to each other; knitting side by side; and baking! Above all, the baking of treats. I wrote about this a few posts ago, but it came back to me again.
Now, our coming snowstorm reminds me of someone being fully present for me. A sense of not being alone all the time. My Mom. My friend today. My Son for me.
And now my turn, for others.
That’s what a good sermon does, makes you think and try to become a better person in some way.
And that’s what a good snowstorm does, reminds you of happy times.
And keeps the bear away.